


Picking Our Invite Font as a Twosome

by viceprincipalpanch



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Bed Bath and Beyond, Bisexual Character, Furniture Shopping, M/M, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceprincipalpanch/pseuds/viceprincipalpanch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sick bachelor pad doesn't have to be a one bro show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picking Our Invite Font as a Twosome

**Author's Note:**

> for tumblr user verymeanandveryqueer. i have seen about 2/3 of season two so i apologize for any mischaracterization. womp womp.

The invitations may have been a bad idea. As dope as it was to write them up ("Check it: Jean-Ralphio Saperstein and Tom Haverford cordially request your presence at their tricked-out housewarming partay, dress code is black tie optional, frosty bling necessary!") they came with the necessity of a deadline. Currently, their apartment is still a blank canvas without even the slightest hint of colour or style, and their party is in 28 hours. It might once have seemed like a lot of time -- like, if they weren't going to be  _hosting_ a party, but instead would be  _attending_ one, they would both be chomping at the bit -- but now, they are rushing through aisles trying to find the beyond, because who the hell cares about beds and baths at a time like this?

"Okay, what you got on our checklist, Tommy T?" Jean-Ralphio is tall enough that he could check over Tom's shoulder, but he hasn't slept in two days so his vision is a little bit blurry. All he knows for absolutely sure is that those are some illin' towels to his right and some less than illin' ones on his left. More importantly, he knows he needs to stop walking so he doesn't outpace his best bro. If they are going to do this, they need to do it together. That was, after all, the agreement they had made once they realized that living together might simplify pretty much every aspect of their lives, personal  _and_ professional. Living with your wingman/co-worker cuts down on costs and makes carpooling a non-issue. Besides, Jean-Ralphio can't sleep without holding on to a motherfucker.

Oh, yeah, you know what, maybe they  _should_ care about beds. The sleeping bag they're sharing isn't exactly roomy.

Haverford stops him with a hand firmly in the middle of his chest, then gives him a few pats to keep him there. "Alright, listen up: we're gonna start with the table and chairs, then the plates, you know, so we can get some foodstuffs all up in our guests' mouths." They considered having the event catered, but nobody had enough shrimp that were the right size. Tom moves down to the next item on the checklist. "After that-- couch. And, like, chairs and shit. For the classy-ass conversations we're gonna have. And hey, who knows? Maybe some potential makeouts." They share a high-five over Tom's shoulder, without even looking to see that they connect (and they  _do_.)

"Yo, what about the bed, babe?" The ironic pet name thing has become a habit, one that neither of them intend to break any time soon. That it's combined with the word "bed," singular, doesn't strike either of them as particularly odd. Bros who don't share are the weakest kind, and the geniuses behind Snake Juice and Entertainment 720 are far from weak.

Tom nods, considering the question. "Yeah, that'll be item number  _three_. You got your dad to rent a truck for all this, right? Because we are gonna need somebody with  _serious_ hauling capacity."

Grinning, Jean-Ralphio takes a few steps to lean up against a particularly high stack of particularly cozy-looking towels. "Consider it, ah,  _over and-uh done wi-ith_!"

* * *

There have been many beds in Jean-Ralphio's life: his parents', his own, those of his successful hook-ups, and Tom's are a few that come immediately to mind. However, he has never seen one so princely, so absolutely  _perfect_ in stature and style, as the one that sits before him. Tom seems pretty impressed, too, which means it's probably a keeper. Money has never been an object, even when Jean-Ralphio had those creditors call him up and tell him he was "in collections" and "had to settle or else," so when he gets a look at the price tag he is barely fazed. He's got a 50 dollar pocket square tucked into his blazer pocket, he gives literally no fucks about a 900 dollar bed set. He would probably rap about it, if there wasn't a tear coming to his eye and his brain weren't 48 hours out of sleep.

"We gotta get it, T." He turns to look at him, biting his lip to hold back the excitement that threatens to bubble out of his mouth. "We are gonna get  _so much pussay_!" Now that he's opened his mouth to say something, Jean-Ralphio is pretty sure that's not actually excitement welling in his throat. In fact, it might be all the leftover Snake Juice he drank before they left, to give him that extra jolt of energy. Once more, he's reminded that drinking on an empty stomach only leads to disaster; if he can at least make it to wherever they sell garbage cans, he should be good.

Tom chews on the inside of his cheek, stroking the headboard to get a good feel for the fabric. They would have to find matching sheets, which he assumes won't be hard considering they're in Bed, Bath and Beyond, and a mattress. Does Bed, Bath and Beyond sell the actual  _beds?_ He glances around and decides that no, they do not. The bedframe is a start, however, and a good one at that. "You wanna go with Premier Black or  _Velvet_ Black, bro?"

"Uh, who would ever say no to  _velvet_ , boo? Not  _me!_ And most  _definitely_ not you!" He practically claps for himself when he takes the time to realize he actually constructed a rhyme without thinking about it. Instead, he settles for a double high five, then a low five, then a chest bump. Their high-class suite is on its way to being the number one sexy hotspot in all Pawnee.

As soon as he pulls back and considers the side effects of the bump, Jean-Ralphio is on _his_ way to the storage aisle (he makes it to draperies before blowing chunks all over the product, and they make it across the store before anyone realizes someone was sick.)

* * *

By the time they swing back around to dining furniture -- they lost the list in their mad dash for the picture frames, where they figured they could hide until the whole mess blew over -- Jean-Ralphio's mouth doesn't taste like ass anymore. Instead, it tastes like cinnamon gum, the kind Tom likes to chew for whatever the weird reason is that people who like cinnamon candy share. It's not half bad, especially when he remembers it as cinnamon gum. At the very least, it's better than that lackluster selection of dining room sets they are currently faced with. "Man, this is  _hardly_  dope. This isn't even  _fly_!" He kicks one of the chair legs half-heartedly, just enough to shake it without sending it flying. "They got that sweet-ass bed, and then they give us this?"

Shaking his head slowly, Tom has a look of agreement etched on his face. If they're going for clean, modern, hella classy living, all the genteel wood-and-metal concoctions staring them down are not going to do it. Ikea probably has something, but Tom was really hoping to make this a one-stop shop. God knows Jean-Ralphio needs the rest, and he's pretty sure the folks at Ikea are a little more attentive than the fine employees of Bed, Bath and Beyond. Thinking of the name of the place is even too much work at that point, so a jump to a four-letter store would be a real break on both their brains. "Don't kick shit, man, that's something they can  _see_. You scuff it, you bought it."

Jean-Ralphio pouts, royally pissed and more tired than any man has any right to be in a brightly-lit store full of towels and scented candles, and shoves his hands in his pockets as if that will somehow stop his feet from jerking out at random furniture. He'll get over it, but being brought down so quickly after riding so high has him struggling to keep up his smirking. When he feels a hand on his shoulder, reassuring as hell and firm with the strength that comes with regular 8-hour-a-night sleep, he even starts feeling a little better.

"Hey," says Tom, brushing some dust off of his shoulder, "you wanna go grab, like, an ottoman or something? One of those storage ones. Just  _think_ of all the cool stuff we could shove in there!"

Gasping, Jean-Ralphio nods and stumbles over his own two feet on his way down the next aisle. Tom follows after him, just trying to make sure they don't get in any more trouble than they will be if anyone connects the puke back to the two well-dressed, slightly booze-scented young hustlers running around the place.

* * *

The checkout girl is, they have decided, a total fox. While one of them might not be able to pull her if they were out and about, both their games combined will definitely knock this one out of the park. Jean-Ralphio opens, waggling his eyebrows and taking the direct approach. "You wanna come home with us, girl? Gonna be enough room in that bed for  _three_." He sucks his lower lip into his mouth before rethinking the move and swiping his tongue over it instead. Nothing beats confidence and swagger, except for maybe money, and looking at the monumental haul they have had wheeled up to the front for them, they've got that in spades, too.

She doesn't say anything. Doesn't even look up, and not in that cute shy way those guys from One Direction talked about a few years back. Whatever. Tom's up to bat next, and now that Jean-Ralphio has warmed her up, it'll be a home run for sure. He gives his bro a nudge to get him to ease up, maybe back off a little. "You gotta excuse my man Jean-Ralphio, boy is  _always_ on. Bet you know a little bit about that, huh, bae?" He jerks his head up in something resembling a nod, then leans forward on one elbow. The conveyor belt moves, and he almost slips and falls face-first into the black rubber slowly working their dinnerware down to the register, but manages to keep himself upright and slightly bent over. "Yeah, girl, I'm talking about all of  _this_. You got it going  _on._ Hey, you know, we're giving a  _party_ tomorrow, gonna ring in the new house.  _Very_ hot,  _very_ exclusive,  _very_ good to see you there, alright?" While he's been talking, Tom has managed to smoothly pull out his wallet, snap it open so she can see his wad of cash, and slip out one of his business cards. He places it gently on her scanner, making sure she has to pick it up and actually look at it.

"Aw,  _snap!_ " Jean-Ralphio even tries to snap, though he can't quite get his fingers to co-operate with him. As soon as Tom or one of the moving guys gets the bed set up, he is going to get his snuggle on. For now, he's grinning from ear to ear and leaning over Tom's shoulder to leer at their cashier.

She blinks at them, in a manner reminiscent of the hot intern girl Tom works with, and sighs in something that sounds very much like disgust. "Will that be cash or credit."

"Ah-ah!  _A little bit of bo-oh-oh-oth, yeah!_ "


End file.
